Origins
by kingly queen
Summary: Some dreams you just can't escape from. Sarah finds it more and more difficult to hide from hers, especially in the wake of the Goblin King's looming presence.


Origins Chapter 1  
_KINGLY QUEEN_

Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, and I make no profit from this story.

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**Chapter One: Ensnared**

The applause was deafening.

From atop a stage, where she could see stage glitter shimmering through streaming spotlights, Sarah beamed, still clothed in her moon spun finery, stars shimmering in her dark, raven hair. It was thrilling; she was the lead actress, the protagonist of the play, a girl on a hero's journey who had fought glorious battles and _won_. It wasn't the first time. Now she shared the stage with her fellow actors, their hands linked together as they prepared to bow before a crowd, chorusing with cheers, the sound of a triumphant heralding.

Sarah eagerly twisted her head, seeking out her father's familiar warm eyes, and beside him a much smaller crown of golden locks swaying to and fro as Toby waved fanatically, a smile threatening to split his rosy cheeks. With a laugh, Sarah shared a wry look with Karen who, even from here, Sarah could see her shake her head in exasperation although she too had a smile for Sarah. Then there, just a few rows behind them… Sarah spied a familiar face with deep set green eyes identical to hers. There was a brief feeling then, tightening in her chest, as if someone were pulling taut the dormant threads of remembrance and forgetting. In a twinkling it passed, the moment smoothing itself over. Her mother was there too, pride shining in her eyes. _It feels right_, she told herself. _It does. Even if it is only a dream…_

Their theatre director, Tom, climbed atop the stage then, all velvet and smiles. He beamed as he approached her, pulling from behind his back a dozen red roses tied at the stems with a white velvet ribbon. "These are for you Sarah. You were amazing tonight." With a grin, he leaned in kissing both her cheeks with giddy gusto.

Sarah rolled her eyes, ignoring her hot cheeks as she ducked her head from the cast members' good natured laughs. "Oh please. You're the director, without you opening night would have been a total _disaster_," she said, smiling. "But… thank you, really."

Sarah reached out to take the roses, their overpoweringly sweet fragrance surprising her to a degree where she almost didn't notice the thorns protruding from the stem. Almost. Sarah drew back with a sharp cry and the flowers went tumbling down, petals spilling down like a cascade of red satin. From there she could see what she hadn't before: sharp thorns with sinister looking curves, stretching towards her as if eager to draw blood.

_They did. I'm bleeding,_ she realized, holding up her hand. Droplets of blood wept from the angry looking gash on her thumb. "Tom, these have thorns. Did you see them?" Sarah asked disturbed. Looking up from the roses she saw no one; the theatre was empty, the cast gone, and the velvet red chairs empty of an audience. She was alone.

_This isn't usually how the dream goes,_ Sarah thought, absently bringing her thumb to her mouth. Dread eased itself into the pit of her gut. _We all bow, and Tom gives me the roses and I throw them out in the audience to my family, and then…_

With her heart racing, Sarah gripped her gossamer gown, suddenly feeling all the things she had neglected to notice in her rush of euphoria; the sweatiness of her palms, the stifling heat of old theatre air, and _there_, a dark blot of silver and black, how could she have _missed_ it—

The sound of slow, measured clapping filled the empty air, joined by its echoes from off the walls. "My, my, Sarah. Well done. What a performance." The sound of his voice was more familiar to her heart than it had any right to be, and in the absolute silence (she couldn't hear her own breathing because she _wasn't_) she could detect all the nuances in his cold, clipped voice: arrogance, smugness, the blackest sort of amusement, with a light shade of wariness, although confidence had colored over it well.

Sarah watched in frozen silence as the Goblin King wove with the grace of a cat between the red velvet arm chairs, clothed in black armor, his ebony cape swishing to and fro with his movements. His gleaming boots clicked briskly against the ground as he approached, never once taking his eyes off her. As he prowled forward, he remarked offhandedly, "However, it seems as though the power of hindsight didn't benefit you much. I'll have to say the performance was better the first time around, I'm not quite sure why," he flashed her a cold smirk. "Perhaps it has something to do with the benefit of firsthand experience?" His smile slipped completely, leaving nothing but brittle anger that ebbed and flowed behind a sneer. As his thin lips moved, Sarah watched, still paralyzed, the white sharpness of his teeth, inhuman and not unlike a wolf's.

Sarah swallowed, rallying her wits. This was a dream. _Her_ dream, and this Goblin King was nothing but a memory, real though he seemed; he was better off in an oubliette, a place of forgetting.

"This is _my_ dream, Goblin King. I don't know why I'd dream of _you_, but I've remembered well. You're just the same as you've always been." _As you'll always be_, she thought bitterly.

She watched as his shoulders loosened, and he seemed to relax a little, lips parting in a self-sure smile. "Oh? If I am but a projection of your mind, answer me this Sarah, why am I here? Why did you conjure me?"

Sarah bit her lip, resisting the urge to turn away from the sight of his gleaming armor, sinister and dark. "I _didn't_ conjure you. Don't think so highly of yourself, Goblin King. What makes you think you're not just a bad Chinese food induced nightmare?" she snapped. Sarah blinked and he was gone.

His voice came from directly behind her. "Mmm. Unlikely. You're not _that_ creative," came a frosty sneer, but just underneath she could feel the heat of his anger.

Sarah jumped, whirling around so fast she nearly keeled over. He stood with his feet a shoulder width apart, an upswept owl's wing decorating the face, the same as ever, and while he always managed to look condescendingly amused, there was no real feeling behind it. Sarah shivered.

"Let us try a more realistic approach," he suggested blandly, as though bored, but his eyes jumped and danced.

What would the harm be? He was only a memory. A terrifying one, surely, but he belonged in the past.

"No one forgets their first fairytale," Sarah replied candidly, shrugging her shoulders in a show of casualness that she would never have afforded the real Goblin King. "And maybe I miss magic. Adventure. This play has me aching for it." She paused, lost in thought. "Sometimes, I just wish…" She stopped herself short, her eyes swinging to his; they were suspiciously blank, as if he had slammed the gates shut on some sort of emotion, one that might have given him away. _Don't be ridiculous, Sarah_, she thought. _ It's a dream, that's all._ But the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She backed away.

"_Do_ you wish, Sarah?" He advanced, a slow smile growing, and while the feeling was real, it was anything but pleasant.

She remained quiet, her eyes darting from his eyes to his feet, weaving a slow circle around her.

"Then let me ask you this Sarah, do you dream?" He cocked his head to the side, a suddenly he had conjured a crystal. It twisted and twirled through his long gloved fingers, back over the bow of his shoulders and down again to his hands. It gleamed in the light, eye catching and dangerous.

Sarah ignored it resolutely. "Of course I dream. _You're_ here, aren't you?" she replied with a scowl. To and fro, ebbing and flowing, back and forth…

"You misunderstand me, Sarah. Do you _dream_?" he pressed, and in two quick strides he stole close to her, too close to breathe comfortably and too close to escape from.

Did she dream? Did she strive, and reach and live and wish? Did she _dream_? She was sure she did. It had only been three years… She was so sure, and yet—

"I don't know," she replied softly, pulling the satin gown around her, as if she could shroud herself with the stuff of magic, as if she could breathe in the crystals and swallow whole the sparkles in her hair. "I don't—"

A voice cut through, sharp as a blade. "Have you forsaken your dreamer's knowledge so easily, Sarah? I never thought that even _I_ would live to see the day." His tone was mild, but the poison there was undeniable. Brushing stage glitter from his shoulder, he sniffed derisively and gazed straight past her shoulder.

Sarah bristled, a hot thrum of anger roared in her ears. "You wouldn't understand it, Goblin King. You live in a world that never changes – whether the runners leave or lose, it's still _your_ world, and you're the master of it. What would _you _understand about living in a world where you can't depend on anything to stay the same from one day to the next?" she bit out caustically. She shook her head and said, "You don't know anything."

His face clouded, the unassuming indifference replaced with anger, though darker, more potent. She had touched a nerve. "Don't presume to judge me, Sarah. I see after all these years you're still an impetuous child." He towered over her, and she could see his jaw clenched. Where her anger _burned_ her from the inside out, his seemed like shards of glass, cutting him up from the deepest recesses. It festered. "I've seen far more than you have, _little one_. For all of your years, I've lived them a thousand times over and I'll live them a thousand times again."

He sucked his breath in, as if to continue his tirade, but she saw him stop short, his gaze riveted to her face. It was only then she realized how small she looked, her mouth softly open and her eyes wide. Flushed with shame, she scowled, looking away. She heard him sigh and darted a look through the curtain of her hair. For a moment he was quiet, watching her through considering eyes. His gaze seemed to soften for the barest moment, but the moment had shifted and gone and he was inscrutably mercurial again.

"You really are a child, Sarah."

That was enough. "I'm _not_ a child. I've beaten you once before, Goblin King, and I could just as easily do it again." Her chin lifted, pride and obstinacy as clear as day on her face.

Just like that his guard was back up, a sly smile in place. "Do I hear a challenge, Sarah?" he purred, with a tilt of his head that seemed almost boyish, innocent, if not for the fact that he was prowling around her.

Sarah ignored the voice of sense niggling in the back of her mind. Recklessly, she plunged onwards, a smile like a blazing star stretching from cheek to cheek. "Think of it as more of a _promise_, Goblin King," she remarked.

Then he smiled, and a laugh eased from his lips, soft and insinuating. It promised victory, and sounded like _no quarter_.

"Done."

Quicker than thought he reached out and took her hand, and in a twinkling, the theatre disappeared around them. Fighting her sudden panic, Sarah closed her eyes, wondering just when she had lost control of her own dream.

"Open your eyes Sarah."

She did.

The sky was the color of sun kissed dew and distant stars twinkled against the curtain of it, as if it was inlaid with jewels. Sarah was shocked by the vividness of everything around her; she could feel the moss between her toes, the coolness of it against her skin, the dying warmth of a sinking sun against her face. The fragrance of blackberries filled the air, and she wondered vaguely if it was deliberate on the Goblin King's part; what was it that he wanted her to forget?

Before she could trace the line of that thought, she felt his presence behind her. He didn't quite touch her (he never did), but she could feel a current shooting back and forth between the narrow strip of space that separated them, so negligible and fleeting. She shivered, unable to move as he leaned so that his face hovered just over her shoulder, his arm outstretched over her other one. "Look down there, Sarah. What do you see?" Sarah sucked in a breath, and closed her eyes, clearing her head of the scent of blackberries, of forgetting. She couldn't forget herself here, where things seemed too _real_ to be just one of her dreams. What had she gotten herself into…?

Defiantly she stepped away as far as she could while standing on a sharp cliff edge. And then, because she could never turn down a challenge, Sarah looked (she always did), and gasped.

The cliff face overlooked a glade of twilight. All around her were hues of dusky violet, and soft, sleepy blues. The field was lush with lilac grass, and vines of deep blue snaked up the trunk of glittering silver trees which bore clear fruit, the insides of which seemed to be filled with some shimmering liquid. Night colored animals wove between the trees; Sarah spied a doe stepping daintily into the orchard. For a moment it stilled, looking towards her, but then turned back to the fruit, hanging promisingly just overhead. Sarah watched as it stretched upwards and just when the fruit seemed to be just a whisper out of reach, the doe opened its maw impossibly wide, revealing a serrated tongue and razor sharp teeth and it snapped down on its prize. As it ate noisily, Sarah watched with horror that when the skin of the fruit broke, the nectar inside became crimson. It dripped down the deer's snout and ran in rivulets down its front.

Suddenly, he wove himself around her, and a crystal was there, shimmering. In the glassy orb she could see herself, wild and free, face painted with the juices of forest fruit, she could see herself with bow in hand, and the release of an arrow flying swift and true. The forest behind her swayed with a sudden breeze, and between the sound of woodwind chimes, she could hear the sound of her name being whispered by the wind through the braches. _Sarah, Sarah, Sarah…_

Sarah shuddered. He didn't hold the crystal out before her this time in an open display of temptation. He knew better. The elusive crystal wove between his nimble fingers, and this time she barely managed to take her eyes off it.

"Is this the magic you're searching for, dear hind?" He queried, his voice pitched low. Magnetic. Compelling.

_No._

"Why, are you here to offer me my dreams?" she asked dryly, shaking herself free of his hold, and hating him for having been able to tempt her at all.

With a snap he withdrew the crystal, whisking it to who knew where. "Oh no darling, the time for that is _quite_ over," he retorted. "Though I doubt you'd appreciate my generosity even now," he said, looking quite prickly. "Actually, we're here so that you may honor our bargain."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't remember making you any kind of bargain, Goblin King."

A smirk quirked at his lips. "So forgetful, Sarah. Don't you recall?" and with a flourish the crystal in his hand twirled to life. Inside Sarah could see herself, defiant and blazing with pride.

_Think of it as more of a __promise__, Goblin King._

She looked at him, saw him watching her with a look of predatory anticipation, eyes hard and hungry. Like he was figuring out how best to eat her alive. Sarah took a reflexive step backward. _This… This doesn't feel like a dream anymore,_ Sarah thought fearfully. _Not a normal one._ As he saw her dawning realization, a satisfied smirk curled at the corner of his lips, a cruel, sickle moon smile.

Sarah stood frozen, her lips numb and the feeling quickly fading from her fingers and toes. She was an _idiot_, and a fool for forgetting. She didn't know how she'd fooled herself for so long, but _this_ standing in front of her, clothed in folds of black and triumph, was no specter, no weak silhouette of anyone or anything.

He was the Goblin King.

With a sinking feeling, she cried out "That wasn't what I meant and you know it!"

The Goblin King smiled and a twisted little smile. He leaned towards her, the harsh planes of his face alight with triumph. "What's said is said," he said, smooth as velvet.

_So self-assured of his victory. _She flushed with anger. "I don't have to _do_ anything—"

"Don't be ridiculous Sarah," he rebuffed swiftly. "This is the world of _dreams. _You may have forgotten," he said, his mouth twisting with displeasure, "but you've read the stories. You know what happens. Your word is _binding_. You owe me a promise, Sarah, and wouldn't you rather it be on _your_ terms than be afraid of slipping up your entire life? So careless and petty a thing you are, perhaps you'll wish someone _else _away? Your father, your friends or perhaps a lover the next time? And trust me on this, Sarah, I was _always_ listening." His smile spelled _victory_.

"I don't understand," she cried "It didn't even mean—"

"Still so naïve, Sarah?" he sneered, his crystalline gaze cold as ice. "Words have _power_, or did you underestimate the effect that yours had on my kingdom?"

Sarah shook her head, something like a growl forcing its way from out of her throat. "All I did was win your little game, Goblin King."

"You _destroyed_ my city, you thoughtless girl. You brought my kingdom to its _knees_," he seethed, his eyes cruel with hate. His anger was a terrifying thing, it always had been. Even now his muscles were tightly coiled, and like a snake, Sarah didn't know when he would strike. For a moment, he seemed as though he had wanted to continue his tirade but abruptly he turned away from her, and paced slowly so that he stood on the edge of the cliff, hands clasped behind his back.

Perhaps, a long time ago, Sarah would have been impressed by his cool composure, but now she was older. Wiser. _He needs these ten seconds to compose himself. His back is trembling with anger._

_He's not invincible._

Suddenly, Sarah felt empowered. This was _her_ dream, and while he was unchanged since she'd seen him last, _she_ wasn't. _If I could beat him when I was sixteen, I could certainly do worse now. _Sarah smirked suddenly, scoffing. The Goblin King looked over his shoulder at the sound and his eyes widened at her little smile before narrowing again.

"What's the matter, Goblin King? Did you suddenly remember that it wasn't just your kingdom that was brought to its knees, but _you_? Brought low by the words of a little girl," she said, bravely stepping closer towards him, a blade sharp smile curling at the corner of her lips. He remained silent, though his blue fey eyes were glacial and his mouth pressed into a tight, displeased line.

"You're treading in _very_ deep waters, Sarah," he said coolly. His eyes were like night in the dead of winter, but Sarah pressed on.

"Yeah? Well don't worry, Goblin King. I can swim with the best of them," she retorted.

"Is that so?" he drawled. His face was strangely blank, but Sarah could see the cogs spinning circles behind his eyes, scheming and manipulating. He resumed his prowling, although this time she was spared the intensity of his heavy gaze. His head was tilted to the lightening sky, thoughtful and distant.

"How very vexing you are, Sarah," he mused, still not looking at her. "Must everything always be a struggle with you?"

"Yes," she retorted without hesitation.

A chuckle escaped him as he shook his head ruefully. He looked at her appraisingly before he seemed to settle upon a decision, some strange purpose falling into place in his eyes.

He reached her in two long strides, following her as she retreated desperately, until she felt the rough bark of a tree against her back. "What do you want? What are you _doing_?" she demanded, disconcerted and only a shade shy from afraid. Because he had never _done_ this before. The man himself was not unlike his crystal balls, his tricks and illusions. He was only ever smoke and mirrors, turning up from out of nowhere, and disappearing just as easily. Always teasing and goading her from where she could only see from the corners of her eyes. Elusive as smoke.

With deliberation, he placed his hands against the tree, forming an effective cage around her. Sarah could scarcely breathe though she was obstinately determined not to look away from his face.

"What do I want?" he murmured, his gaze fixed on her mouth. Her heart was a drum in her chest. "The answer to that could fill books."

"As for what I'm doing? Well," he purred, his voice pitched low, "that will make itself _quite _obvious."

He smirked, looking like the devil himself as he leaned ever closer to her, the gap between them growing more and more narrow, until there was a bare strip of space left that separated their bodies. His face hovered above hers, all sharp planes and angles. Even his eyes were like hard chips of ice, but his lips, gently parted, looked so soft…

His hand slipped down from the side of her head to grasp her firmly around the wrist. Sarah blinked in surprise as he brought her hand up between them, clasping her thumb between his fingers. "Oh dear, Sarah. You're bleeding."

Her mind was disconcertingly fuzzy, and distantly she could hear the tolling of bells (striking the thirteenth hour?) and her gut twisted in a way that accompanied the feeling of falling. Disoriented, she stammered "The roses – I cut my finger on their thorns."

"How careless of you, allowing yourself to bleed in a place like this," he murmured, though he didn't look concerned.

Sarah frowned. "What do you mean? It's just a cut." The tolling was growing louder. Sarah pressed her eyes closed, warding away the warning sound.

"Is it?" he replied, before bringing her thumb to his mouth and sealing his lips against her wound.

Her eyes flew open. Gasping, she tore herself away from his grasp, scrambling out from under him. Cradling the hand against her chest she glared at him, and watched as a slow smirk curled at the corner of his lips, still stained red with her blood. He brought his gloved fingers to his mouth and they came away, sticky and red. He idly rubbed his fingers together. "Forbidden fruit, indeed," he murmured to himself.

Her heartbeat was like lightning and thunder; the sound of waves roared like drums in her ears. "What games are you playing, Goblin King?" she snarled, feeling her hands ball into fists.

He threw back his head and laughed. Chuckling, he strode towards her. "No games at all, precious," he said mirthfully, eyes dancing at some joke she wasn't privy too. They grew more serious as he looked at her appraisingly before he swiftly grasped her chin, leaning in close. Close enough for her to smell winter, and pine, and a wildness that was all his own.

"I simply want you to fall."

And then he pushed her backward, off the cliff where she fell off the edge, tumbling down, down, down as the ground rose up to meet her until—

Sarah jolted herself awake, frightening and disoriented. Her mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and a hand was on her shoulder, jostling her roughly.

"Thank God, Sarah, you're awake!" her roommate cried, sighing with relief. "Don't ever do that to me again. You scared the shit out of me."

Sarah blinked owlishly at the onslaught of light streaming through the windows. Since when had mornings been so _bright_? "Chelsea?" she croaked, rubbing her eyes and sitting up. "What's happening?"

Darcy rolled her eyes, plopping down on the bed next to Sarah. "What's _happening_ is that I've been trying to wake you up for about ten minutes now. You just wouldn't get up. You know how you usually get up at the crack of dawn? Well, you didn't this time, and I thought maybe you had a rough night so I'd let you sleep in." Her roommate flicked a lock of curly red hair over her shoulder. "I went for my morning classes and came back and you were _still _in bed. I was _so_ freaked out. I kept yelling and shaking you but you were seriously dead to the world. Hell, I thought you _were_ dead. I went all paramedic on you. Checked that you had a pulse and that you were still breathing."

Sarah heaved a shuddery sigh. Her mind was reeling, trying to process everything that Darcy had told her. And in light of that _crazy_ dream too, because in the end that was all it was. A dream. _But I've never overslept like this before. Sure, I had that midterm paper to do last night and I hadn't been sleeping very well the past couple of weeks, but to knock out like __that__? It's not like me. _Sarah shook her head weakly.

"I'm sorry, Chels. I honestly don't know what to say. I guess I've just been really tired these past few days." She smiled wanly at the girl. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

Chelsea clucked her tongue impatiently. "Don't apologize, Sarah. You didn't do anything wrong. Obviously I was worried, but if you're just tired then maybe we should invest in a coffee machine? You know, the ones that make lattes and espressos and cappuccinos and stuff. And maybe we could add some whiskey in and make it Irish," the redhead suggested, dimpling prettily and winking.

Sarah couldn't resist laughing. "Whatever you say, Chelsea."

"Good! Now," she said, clapping authoritatively. "It's time to get up. You still have the rest of a day's worth of classes left to go to." Chelsea rifled through her closet throwing a t-shirt and some jeans down on the bed. Sarah pretended not to hear her grumbles, complaining that _all you have are jeans and t-shirts. Where do you keep your skirts? Where do you keep your dresses! How about wearing something other than blue, white and black sometime, Sarah. Green would really bring out your eyes._

It looked like aside from her dream and her awfully long lie in, the day would be uneventful as it was yesterday. Which was a blessing in itself, Sarah supposed.

But her heart stopped in her chest when she threw aside her covers and discovered splotches of old, coppery blood staining her arms. Her hands trembled, summoning the courage to look, to see, to divulge the truth for herself. Turning her hand over, Sarah's eyes clamped shut from the sight, but it was already too late for that.

There was a long gash down her thumb, the tail of it reaching to the spidery blue veins at the base of her palm. It was still weeping blood, and stung when she curled her thumb. She could feel the phantom imprint of his hand wrapped around her wrist. The searing heat of his mouth against the pad of her finger.

_Oh God_, she thought, her stomach turning. _I'm going to be sick._

"Sarah, honey? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost," came the distant voice of her concerned roommate.

But Sarah didn't even know where to begin to explain. Not to Chelsea. And certainly not to herself.

She shook her head, before pressing her lips firmly together and stumbling to the bathroom where she promptly emptied the contents of her stomach.


End file.
